Never Say Never
by romani-princess
Summary: Peter Pan spent four years trying to deny it was happening. But after a point, the truth became inescapable. Now he’s made a decision that will mean a new life, one that he never foresaw. But perhaps, just perhaps, it won’t be as awful as he imagin
1. Prologue

Summary: Peter Pan spent four years trying to deny it was happening. But after a point, the truth became inescapable. Now he's made a decision that will mean a new life, one that he never foresaw. But perhaps, just perhaps, it won't be as awful as he imagined …

Authors Note: I'm a sap. There is no other way to say it. And, as such, I was VERY perplexed with the ending to the Peter Pan story. I read the book, I saw the movie – and damnit, here's my take on what would have happened if Peter had left Neverland and returned to grow up. This has probably been done to death, but in my world, you can never have too much fluff.

**Never Say Never**

Prologue :: Choices

If anybody had ever told Peter Pan that he'd even be considering what he was about to do, he certainly would have laughed hysterically at the sheer absurdity of such a suggestion. And then he probably would have run them through with the first pointy thing that came within reach, just for good measure, you understand.

He'd spent a good four years trying to deny it. However, the more he attempted to tell himself that it just wasn't so – couldn't possibly be so – something else happened. It was just one calamity after another. And it simply wouldn't stop!

He first noticed something amiss in the few months following his last trip back to Neverland from London. When he first bumped his head against the top of the carved entrance into the secret hideout, his brow furrowed in slight surprise but he didn't dwell on it for a prolonged measure of time. Indeed, he forgot about it almost immediately. Peter Pan is, after all, very easily distracted.

The next time he tried to fly through however, he didn't dismiss it so readily. The poor boy nearly gave himself a concussion attempting a vertical entrance. Luckily, for the next several months (before he acquiesced and supervised the most recent generation of Lost Boys in the building of another hideout), he remembered to duck before entering.

Next he noted, with much alarm, that something had happened to his voice. For a short while it fluctuated up and down (and occasionally even round and round); high and boyish one second and deep and distinctly non-boyish the next. He found the entire experience so disconcerting that he was even somewhat glad when it finally decided to stay as it was. It was deeper. It was huskier. It was very, very perturbing.

And then, to add insult to injury, he realised that he was actually _thinking_ more. He considered his options, he weighed alternatives in his mind, and he even brooded on occasion. Fighting the distinct impression that he was actually maturing – heavens, no! – he pushed it aside and put it all down to the lack of a good mortal enemy. Indeed, there hadn't been a worthy opponent since the demise of the late departed Captain. Of course, that had to be it.

Whatever the cause, he found the entire situation highly off-putting.

Despite his reservoir of excuses – and some were awfully creative, it must be noted – one day he simply found himself running out of plausible explanations.

It was on that fateful day that he considered something different. Something so ridiculous it just had to be right.

Peter Pan was growing up.

And as disturbing as this thought was, he knew that his time in Neverland was limited. Neverland was a place for children, for Lost Boys and little girls who believed in fairytales and magic. For it is a truth universally acknowledged (at the very least in the dimmest recesses of one's mind) that magic – _real_ magic like that in Neverland – is for children.

And Peter, as loathe as he was to admit it, was quickly leaving that part of himself behind.

He knew precisely where he had to go. He didn't like it, but he knew it had to be done.

Peter was going out into the real world.

Peter Pan was going to grow up.

tbc …


	2. Chapter I

Summary: Peter Pan spent four years trying to deny it was happening. But after a point, the truth became inescapable. Now he's made a decision that will mean a new life, one that he never foresaw. But perhaps, just perhaps, it won't be as awful as he imagined …

Authors Note: Am drawing a blank, here …

**Never Say Never**

Chapter One :: Boys Will Be Boys

Wendy Moira Angela Darling was bored.

In point of fact, she was so utterly bored that she wanted nothing more than to proceed into the next room and join her brothers in their raucous game of … well, she wasn't quite sure what they were playing but it apparently involved a fair amount of noise. And it sounded excessively more entertaining than her own current activities.

Dinner at Aunt Millicent's was anything but entertaining. Her vivid imagination was dangerously close to caving in due to the sheer dullness of the present company. There was talking of stocks and bonds (from the gentleman) and giddy giggles and gossip (from the ladies, of course). And really, not much else. It wasn't exactly the most enlightening environment now, was it?

And that wasn't even taking the so-called 'suitors' into account. Aunt Millicent had taken Wendy's seventeenth birthday as the opportune time to introduce her charming niece to every single eligible young man in her acquaintance. Much to Wendy's extreme mortification, her Aunt certainly knew a lot of them.

"Wendy, dear," Aunt Millicent's voice cut through her thoughts.

Wendy looked up from her intent observations of the carpet. Her brow furrowed slightly and she pushed back a sigh. Oh dear, she thought in dismay, not another one.

"Dearest, I would like you to meet Mr Christian Spencer," Aunt Millicent said, beaming and unmindful of her niece's less than enthusiastic approach to the young gentleman at her side. "Christian, my niece, Wendy Darling."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Darling," Wendy said with a tiny curtsy, holding her hand out as she'd been taught. He grasped it and brushed his mouth across the back of her hand.

"Likewise, I'm sure," he said, a charming grin on his face.

So this was the infamous Christian Spencer. Aunt Millicent had spent half the afternoon breathlessly listing his credentials and amiable qualities, first and foremost of which was his wealthy grandfather, the esteemed Baron of Oakley. She was now giving Wendy a wide and encouraging smile, her eyes sparkling (no doubt at the very thought of a possible attachment).

Christian Spencer was a tall boy of about nineteen. He had dark wavy hair and hazel eyes. In civilised society Wendy knew that he would certainly be considered quite attractive by members of the opposite sex. Wendy, however, found herself quite indifferent to his charm.

In fact in the past several years, Wendy had found herself quite incapable of falling for the charms of ANY young boy. And it wasn't for lack of trying either. Wendy wanted to be a normal girl; she wanted to fall in love and marry and raise a family as any grown up should do. But for whatever reason, she simply could not bring herself to care about any of the multitudes of gentleman that paraded through her parlour.

And there were quite a few of them.

Wendy Darling had grown into quite a beautiful and accomplished young woman. Her modest lifestyle and loving family had ensured that she never quite gained that unladylike pride and arrogance that seemed to run so rampant through the young ladies of the upper echelons of society. She remained sweet natured and kind, and had a smile that could melt even the coldest heart.

She had never stopped dreaming, either.

No matter how much she told herself that dreams and fairytales were for children, she could never quite get rid of her taste for adventure and romance. Truth be told, she didn't really want to banish that part of her entirely.

It would mean leaving a part of her behind, and she wasn't sure that she was ready to do such a thing.

"Miss Darling?"

Wendy suddenly realised that Christian was looking at her in amusement. She started in surprise and bit her lip. "I do apologise," she said. "Were you saying something?"

Christian grinned. "I was trying to pay you a compliment, but I fear you were quite far away."

Resisting the strangely strong urge to roll her eyes, Wendy smiled prettily, looking for all the world as though she were suitable pleased at his compliment (whatever it had happened to be). In reality, she was currently thinking of ways that she could make a hasty retreat without catching the attention of her Aunt.

"Mr Spencer –"

Christian reached across her lap to cover her hand with his. Wendy blinked and leaned back slightly.

"Please," Christian said quietly. "Do call me Christian."

Wendy blinked again. "If you wish it," she said, unobtrusively attempting to disengage his hand from hers. Having done so, she opened her mouth to continue but soon found that she didn't really have a clue what she was supposed to be saying anyway.

Luckily (or perhaps not so), Christian Spencer was a gentleman who liked the sound of his own voice and he appeared quite happy to continue the conversation himself. That was most likely the only reason it took him so long to notice that Wendy was flitting about in lala land while he described every single roof slat on his family's mansion.

When he launched into a description of the 'elegant woods' and the 'exhaustive shrubbery' surrounding the grounds, Wendy found herself unable to hold back a sigh.

This would certainly be a long night.

* * *

"How did you find Mr Spencer, dear," Aunt Millicent asked later that evening, with a suggestive raise of her eyebrows.

Wendy felt it would undoubtedly be imprudent to give her real opinion on the gentleman in question and so, with a cheerful smile and downcast eyes, she replied, "I found him to be a very agreeable young man, Aunt. He appears to be quite the conversationalist."

"I daresay he is, Wendy dear," Mrs Darling said in her usual gentle manner as her husband helped her with her coat. "I couldn't help but notice that the two of you spent quite half the night conversing."

Aunt Millicent actually had tears in her eyes by this point. "Oh! Such a wonderful young man. What a delightful couple they will make!"

Mr Darling, having remained rather oblivious to the conversation, straightened up at her words and he whipped his head around to his daughter. "Young man?" he declared, looking at his wife in askance. "What young man? Wendy is much too young to be talking of young men!"

Wendy sighed.

"Dear," Mrs Darling said with a placating hand on her husband's arm. "She is seventeen and quite old enough to make her own decisions."

"She most certainly is not!" Mr Darling said adamantly. "She is much too young to be thinking of marriage."

When Mrs Darling gently reminded him that they had indeed married when she herself was seventeen, Mr Darling flushed and declared yet again that his daughter was much too young to be considering matrimony. No matter how eligible or rich said gentleman happened to be.

Wendy, at this fatherly display of decisiveness and authority, threw her arms about her father's neck. Considering the circumstances, she was quite inclined to agree with him. She didn't let him go until she realised that he was looking rather blue in the face.

They left Aunt Millicent, who was looking quite near tears with the disappointment, and proceeded home, with the Lost Boys in tow, each in various stages of impending sleep.

There, Wendy fell into bed and dreamed of a boy with sandy hair and bright blue eyes.

She started awake in the middle of the night. The grandfather clock downstairs chimed three o'clock in the morning and Wendy sat up in bed, blinking sleepily, wondering what had woken her. A cool draught ruffled her hair and her eyes fell on the open window. The lace curtains were fluttering in the breeze.

Her eyes widened.

It was the middle of winter. Wendy didn't remember drawing her curtains earlier that evening, let alone opening the window latch.

Thoughts whirling, Wendy drew the covers around her, still staring out at the rooftops shimmering beneath the moonlight. Her mind immediately provided an explanation, but she just as quickly dismissed the idea. Surely not …

There was silence.

A star glittered brightly in the night sky, the sparking gold light just visible out of the corner of her eye. Hardly daring to believe it, Wendy pushed the covers away, eyes wide with wonder.

"Peter …" she murmured, slipping out of bed. She barely noted the coolness of the wooden floor against her bare feet as she stepped up to the window.

The city sprawled out before her. The light of the street lamps glimmered against the wet cobblestones. Rain was sprinkling down lightly; falling against Wendy's upturned face as she stuck her head out the window and looked up at the stars twinkling in the night sky.

But she saw and heard absolutely nothing. There was no familiar flash of green. There was no discernible sparkle of fairy dust. There was no sound of tinkling bells. There was no scent of leafy forests.

Nothing but the London skyline beneath the light of the moon.

Wendy pulled her window closed. Her eyes slipped shut and she bit her lip against the tears.

She wouldn't cry. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't cry. He said he'd come back. That he would always remember her.

That he would never forget.

But he hadn't. He did.

And he wasn't coming back.

tbc …


	3. Chapter II

Summary: Peter Pan spent four years trying to deny it was happening. But after a point, the truth became inescapable. Now he's made a decision that will mean a new life, one that he never foresaw. But perhaps, just perhaps, it won't be as awful as he imagined …

Authors Note: No angst. I expressly promised myself that there would be nothing even remotely resembling angst. Angst is EVIL … Alright, perhaps just a teensy bit of angst. It wouldn't really be a romance without it, would it? Oh, the angst isn't in this chapter though – I'm just warning everyone in advance.

On a side note, I find it easier to write from a female perspective so a fair deal of the remaining story will be from Wendy's perspective. Besides, the mystery of Peter's return wouldn't be much of a mystery if everyone knew about it. This is also the longest chapter yet. I can't promise chapters this long all the time, I write what comes to me. Still, it was pretty cool to be able to write that much :)

I also realise that this chapter may seem slightly silly but I felt it would go better with the tone of the novel if I wrote it this way.

**Never Say Never**

Chapter Two :: A Dream and a Whisper

The Earl of Whittington and his wife, the beautiful Countess of Whittington, had always wanted a child. A robust young boy to call their very own. Unfortunately, they had yet to be blessed with such a gift and, although they were still rather young and always hopeful, were not too sure that they ever would be. Which was quite off-putting for the Countess, really, for she wanted children more than anything else. And the Earl, well he was quite without an heir, which simply would not do.

And so, when a young man came flying through their open drawing room window (it was quite a warm night) and declared that he wanted a mother and father, they were more than ready to adopt him as their charge and teach him the ways of the world as any good parent would.

Happily for the sake of all concerned, they were also rather eccentric and not prone to think of public opinion of their actions. Who were their neighbours to say what was proper and what was normal? The Darlings, a lovely family who lived in the next street over, had a dog for a nurse, for goodness sake.

Of course, they may have been given a bit of a nudge in making that decision. There was a glimmer of golden dust in the air as the curtains billowed in the breeze, and a single star twinkled in the dark night sky.

Regardless, the Earl and the Countess were very pleased to have such an enchanting visitor.

"Oh, what a handsome young man!" Countess Whittington declared the moment she set sight on the sandy haired youth. When she inquired after his parents and he said he had none, the poor dear nearly fell over in shock. "Oh no! You poor boy! Did you hear that, George?"

The boy, who seemed a very confident and brave lad, asked immediately, "Will you be my mother?"

The Countess opened her eyes wide in delight and turned to her husband. "Oh, George!"

The Earl, who had been nonchalantly reading the newspaper, peered at the boy over the rim of his spectacles. "That's quite a splendid idea, my boy. A strapping youth such as yourself will make a fine heir."

"Then you'll be my father?" the boy asked at once.

"I'd be delighted," was the Earl's reply.

The Countess moved gracefully to the sideboard in a mind to make them all a spot of tea in celebration. She turned teary eyes first to her new son and then to her husband. "Oh, George!"

The Earl was quite satisfied with this sudden turn of events and he puffed jovially on his cigar, looking at the boy as he did so. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully, deliberately. The Earl was a very deliberate man. "My boy, what is your name?"

The boy looked puzzled for a moment before he shrugged. "I don't remember."

If the Earl was puzzled by such an answer, he didn't show it. Instead, he puffed his cigar thoughtfully and regarded his young charge with a keen eye. "You don't look like a James. You can't be a Charles, either. Matthew would hardly suit you … I wonder …"

"Bartholomew?" the Countess ventured thoughtfully. "No, no, that can't be right. Paul? Daniel? Mark? Nathaniel? John? William?"

As each name was carefully contemplated and examined and then just as thoughtfully cast aside, the boy's face grew more and more alarmed until such a time as the Countess held up her hand, her bright blue eyes sparkling.

"Ah ha!" she declared. "I have it. It's perfect."

Both the Earl and the boy were looking at her rather apprehensively.

She smiled angelically and said a single name, "Peter."

There was a moment of silence as the boy and the Earl considered this.

"That's quite fitting," the Earl replied with a slight nod.

The boy's face broke into a grin and he laughed. "Yes! It's perfect," he said, throwing his fist up in the air and, as a result of his jubilance, floating several feet off the floor.

The Countess, although incredibly pleased to have solved the problem of naming her child, was quite alarmed by this. While she was a very understanding parent, she was understandably perturbed to see her son flying about like that (she was, after all, a grown up). It looked excessively dangerous. "We must do something about that."

The boy who had been named Peter just grinned cheekily.

And then his lessons in the ways of the world began.

For a while the Countess despaired for the young man had little in the way of so-called 'proper' manners. But she soon found herself quite won over by his irrepressible charm and so didn't think too much of it. The Earl had done the manly thing and left the raising of the child to his beloved wife, only occasionally intervening to show the young lad the ways of the account books and the estate papers.

All in all, it was a happy household. The Earl and the Countess had a son, and Peter? Well, Peter had a mother and a father.

But while he was learning the ways of the world and becoming a man (something which sent the occasional shiver down his spine, although he didn't quite know why), he felt that there was something missing. Something very important that he was supposed to remember.

Try as he might, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was little more than a feeling.

A feeling.

A whisper.

A dream.

Naturally, being a young man of a particular age, said dream was quite vivid and detailed and often very interesting. A dream that smelled like sunshine and fresh flowers, felt like the first whisper of starlight in the evening, and tasted like strawberries and chocolate. Light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes.

A kiss.

She – for his dream was a she – was a princess. She was his princess.

Now, if only he could figure out whom she was …

* * *

"Oh, mother, not another one," Wendy said in slight dismay, looking at the beautifully scripted invitation as though it were a particularly nasty bug. "Every time we attend a party such as this, Aunt Millicent struts me about like a well dressed turkey. It's very disconcerting."

Mrs Darling barely glanced up from the piano, her fingers skimming lightly across the ivory keys but a knowing smile played about the corners of her mouth. "Wendy, darling, you must understand that she is very proud of you. She is only looking out for your well being. And one day you may well find her attentions quite fortunate."

Wendy sighed but acquiesced, as a young woman ought to do. "Yes, mother."

"Wonderful," Mrs Darling murmured happily. She turned back to her playing even as she continued in her usual gentle manner, "Now, tomorrow we go into town for a new gown. The boys will stay here with Nana while your Aunt Millicent and I attend to you."

"That sounds pleasant enough," Wendy said rather doubtfully.

She was quite aware of the zeal her Aunt had for fabrics and gowns and all things beautiful, having been subjected to a fair few shopping expeditions in all her years. Although Wendy found pleasure in the simple delights of a particularly attractive bolt of satin, or the twinkling sparkle of rare and precious gemstones, she was quite unable to match Aunt Millicent's enthusiasm for the whole thing.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour and Wendy heard the usual stomping of feet as the twins each made their excuses for not needing a bath and ran about in all directions in an attempt to get away from Nana and the steaming bath water. Needless to say, their attempts were never enough to get out of the nightly ritual, and sure enough at three minutes past the hour, there was a series of splashes from the upstairs bathroom.

It was then that Wendy had the strange compulsion to go upstairs and see to her other brothers. It wasn't that she cared any less for her brothers than she had before their adventures, but the last several years had been rather hectic and Wendy did not see them as much as she had before.

John, Tootles, Nibs and Curly had been sent to school soon after arriving. They were quite the same Lost Boys they had been in Neverland, loud and rambunctious and able to get away with everything. However in the early days they did have the unfortunate tendency to float to the ceiling when they felt particularly playful, a fact which alarmed their school master so much that he one day decided to tie them to their chairs.

(It was only when the chairs also floated up to the ceiling – with the boys still in them – that the poor man decided to leave the teaching profession altogether and take up the Bible. He now preached from his pulpit every Sunday morning on the dangers and evils of drink.)

The Twins and Michael had not gotten to school until they were of age, and thus Wendy spent more time with them than she did her older brothers.

Whatever their educational circumstances, directly after their adventures in Neverland, Wendy had found herself in her own room down the hall from the nursery. There had been much crying and protestations (from Michael and the Twins), and some rather creative attempts to get her back in the nursery (from Nibs and Curly), as well as some private sulking (from John; he was much too mature to sulk in public). Tootles just bore the entire situation admirably because that was just the type of boy that he was.

Wendy had found herself rather liking the solitude that her own room provided. She was, after all, growing up and there was nothing much to be done about that. She tried to keep the boys entertained with stories about their adventures but after a while, there was little she could do to keep the memory alive. The boys all soon started to forget their adventures and Wendy's stories, while much loved and anticipated, became just that. Stories.

John, being as mature and studious as he was, had been the first to forget. He was growing up so fast that his memories of the Neverland no longer held such a place in his life. Nibs and Curly had followed. Slightly soon after that. Tootles and Michael were next, and then the Twins, too.

Soon enough, only Wendy remembered. But details were slipping even as she tried to catch them, reaching desperately to twine the gossamer threads of memory and time together. The sound of the wind rushing through the trees, or the tinkling speech of the fairies. The scent of the salty sea breeze. It was all but a distant memory.

Only Peter remained, a memory as bright and clear as a summer's day. He came to Wendy in her dreams in a sparkle of glitter. Sandy hair, blue eyes, mischievous and cocky grins at the ready. In her dreams he hadn't forgotten her. In her dreams he had returned as he'd promised.

Wendy composed herself as she neared the nursery. She was a young lady and young ladies should never appear ruffled or uncertain. It simply wasn't done.

"… a fairy, I believe, a pretty golden ball of light, flitting about the nursery!" Michael was saying even as Wendy pushed open the door.

Wendy froze, her hand on the doorknob. "A … fairy?"

Michael turned and noticed her, and a smile lit his cherubic face. His hair was still damn from his bath, and he was dripping water on the carpet. "It was a dream, Wendy. A beautiful, colourful dream. Just like your stories, Wendy. And I was flying through the stars, across the ocean – oh, what a splendid feeling it was, flying!"

"A dream …" Wendy murmured to no one in particular.

Curly all but bounced forward and took her hand. "Wendy, are you here to tell us a story?"

The boys, all thoughts of dreams and fairies and flying pushed aside, looked up at her through wide eyes. Even John, who now also had his own bedroom, looked vaguely interested. He was sitting in a chair in a cosy corner of the room, a dusty leather bound volume sat on his lap.

"Do tell us a story, Wendy!" they cried in unison.

Wendy couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm and she allowed herself to be led to her special chair right by the window. "Alright," she said, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. "I shall tell you a story."

"Yay!" the boys said, sitting about her expectantly.

"A story about a boy who never grew up," Wendy continued.

The curtains suddenly billowed in a gust of wind. Wendy turned, startled. Her eyes widened and she held her breath. Even as she stared out at the clear night sky, a star twinkled. The second star to the right and then straight on until morning.

_'Come away with me …'_

She looked at the open window, the white curtains fluttering wildly and she smiled. Then and there she had made a decision. She couldn't say what had led her to her decision, but she found in herself a renewed confidence. And her next words were said in a kind of wonder, "About a boy called Peter Pan."

And, as she launched into her story, a story that the boys had heard a thousand times before, her eyes sparkled and shone. Peter hadn't been just a dream. He had been real, she knew it. She believed it with every little piece of her heart.

Whether he came back or not, he would still be real. In her stories, she knew he would always be alive, always young, always cocky, and always almost perfect. Always Peter.

Wendy was growing up. She knew this, and at the moment, she knew she was a young woman. It was a defining moment, a perfect moment, an enigmatic and wonderful moment. And Wendy felt elated at the thought.

And maybe, just maybe, he would return. She dared to hope for the first time in a long time.

She couldn't say what had brought it about, just that it was because of a dream. A dream and a whisper …

_'Come away with me …'_

tbc …


End file.
